


Black Thread

by asocialladybug



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Carmilla - Freeform, F/F, Fluff, I mean, JUST, POV Laura Hollis, Unnamed characters - Freeform, also just oops in general, and some children, fluff kinda, help me im new to this, i made this in a writing workshop oops, im done now, just a thing i wrote once that really works for carmilla, mkay thats enought tags, my first fic on here woo, read it please - Freeform, shh you know what i meant, someone dies but its not that bad, theres a cat too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 16:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11627235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asocialladybug/pseuds/asocialladybug
Summary: essentially could be anyone but I wrote this with hollstien in mind, so. anyway, includes kind-of-but-not-really sad death of someone. Laura's pov. its not the best, but its my first and i suck at writing summaries wow. just please read it.thanks c:





	Black Thread

**Author's Note:**

> this being my first story, im not sure what everyone likes to see. so here's this. Its not the best haha so please read with a grain of salt. thank you!

The first time I found my bright yellow pillow not in my bed was not the same time I met her. I met her two days later, grabbing books for our next classes, my yellow pillow safely away. I had found it shoved into the white mini-fridge in the kitchenette. Confused, I had replaced it. The next time, my yellow pillow was on the dry shower’s floor, two weeks later. Again, I didn’t ask and she didn’t address it. We had met a couple of times since, one of which I had introduced myself, holding out a stubby hand for a shake which she had pointedly refused, muttering her name under her breath before whisking herself away. Over the next few weeks, I found my yellow pillow in stranger locations than the ones around our room, including under a bush by the dorms’ front door, in the floors’ kitchens’ microwave, wedged inside a tiny closet (the irony). In mid-December I confronted her. She denied it and we fought with screams and anger as opposed to the usual passive aggressive mutterings. The semester ended and I returned after a long winter break with renewed hope for the coming months.  


For the first week everything was alright, then my yellow pillow went missing and we fought again, over mundane things, and it was returned with a small tear in the fabric, about the length of my pinky finger. We fought near constantly following that, always finding some new conflict. A month in and things got ugly. My yellow pillow was returned with many more rips and tears of varying sizes. I continued to sleep on it, out of spite, and that seemed to fuel the flames of both of our fires. One night we fought too long and too hard and ended up on the floor, tears streaming down our faces, a bottle of something-or-other supported on my torn yellow pillow between us.  


The next morning it was returned with all of the rips shut with black elastic tape and a yellow sticky note that said “temporary” in black felt-tip marker. It was a week later that I first kissed her, tears raking down her face and rolling down my cheeks when we pulled apart. Then my yellow pillow went missing for three days and I found it resting neatly in the center of my bed, covered in black stitches, repairing the rips and the tears. The sticky note said “permanent” this time and when she got home I hugged her tight and didn’t let go until morning when I whispered something into her collarbone that I’m not sure she heard. She might have, as my yellow pillow was returned that night with a small black heart stitched into the corner. As the semester wore on, my yellow pillow wound up in her bed most nights until eventually it became her pillow.  


We fought about a month in and my yellow pillow was back on my bed, littered with tear stains. When we moved in together a year later, my yellow pillow sat in the middle of the bed, a prized possession. We got a lithe black cat with piercing yellow eyes the next year and it was his choice bed. We went to Ireland and my yellow pillow joined us. I asked her to marry me and my yellow pillow returned with “yes” stitched in, though she had responded aloud the day before. When our first child came to sleep in our room, her little head always rested on my yellow pillow. It joined us in France, where we lived for seven years and had our second child. It joined us in the hospital when she broke her leg, again when our son fractured his ankle. It was with us on our twenty-fifth anniversary when we returned to Paris. It came to our sons wedding in England. It came to the hospital again when she was diagnosed with stage four melanoma cancer. It joined us on each return trip and stopped when we realized the chemo wasn’t working. It stayed with us for two grueling weeks filled with tear-stained "I love you"s and sobbed out goodbyes. Then it returned to the hospital as she died, surrounded by her family, wife, children, grandchildren. I had my yellow pillow to myself for the first time in forty-two years and I cried while holding it close. The next night it was placed underneath her head, the yellow fabric faded and the black thread worn, and I looked on as it sunk into the ground with her.  


I didn’t sleep that night or many nights after. But one day, nine days after she died, six after her funeral, I stopped by a flea market on the way home from the cemetery and found a black pillow among the treasures. In yellow I stitched a small heart and have slept soundly ever since.

**Author's Note:**

> my first story on ao3. i love constructive criticism and any ideas for other one shots if you'd like me to try again. please tell me what you think!  
> · ladybug


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